Now You Don't
by mythicaltunes
Summary: It's been a year since the events that got The Four Horsemen into The Eye, a secret, high ranking order of magicians. Henley and Daniel are living it up in New York until a strange message arrives. Do they take a chance and follow it like they did the first one? Or is it something dangerous that they are unaware of?
1. Flashpaper

**Flashpaper**

Henley Reeves looked down at the paper in her hand for what felt like the millionth time, though she had already memorized what was scrawled on it in a distinct, hurried hand.

'_Lionel Shrike Tree. 8:00 pm. Be There'_

Who was it from? Should she comply with the meeting? The last time she had received a note telling her to go somewhere, she had been thrown into an unstoppable chain of events that had nearly landed her in prison. But she had followed the instructions. And now she was in The Eye, a secret order of magicians that had existed for thousands of years, and she was glad for her leap of faith and intuition. It was a privilege to be in The Eye, something only achieved by the greatest of magicians. So, should she listen to this one too?

"Something wrong, Henley?"

That was Daniel, her... boyfriend, she guessed she could call him. He sat down on the couch across from her and slid a mug over the coffee table towards her. His brown, almost-black, hair fell in front of his eyes, giving her time to hide the slip of paper in her sleeve. He brushed it away and gave her a small smile.

"I really need to have that cut."

Henley sat up on the leather couch, threw her red hair over her shoulder, and reached for the mug.

"Thanks for the coffee, Danny."

_Act normal,_ she told herself. _There is nothing wrong. This isn't the first time you've gotten a strange note._

"So, are you okay?"

She raised her eyebrows at him expressively, then took a sip of her coffee. It tasted sweet, the way she liked it. Apparently he had learned.

He sighed, leaning back on the couch and rubbing at his face with his palms. "Don't give me that look, Henley. I'm allowed to worry about you."

"Why would you have to?" There was an audible clink of glass as she set her mug down.

"You just know how to get yourself into trouble, is all."

"And I know how to get myself out of it." She crossed her legs, determined.

Daniel straightened and leaned forward. "Of course you do, but, still..."

"We're magicians, Danny. Trouble happens, and when it does, we know how to deal with it."

Daniel had been part of the scheme that got her initiated into The Eye, another new recruit. The both of them, and two others, Merritt McKinnley and Jack Wilder, had, per instruction, banded together and formed The Four Horsemen. They had been famous, still were famous, in fact, though their last show had been about year ago. They had disbanded, except for her and Daniel. They were currently living together in an apartment in New York City. Merritt was somewhere in California, probably Los Angeles, and Jack had decided to attend a college in Wyoming. He had picked somewhere so discreet because he had been presumed dead, and to avoid mooning fans. New York was a different matter, but she knew how to conceal herself.

He just stared at her, trying to weed out an answer.

"Besides, there's nothing to worry about. I'm fine."

"Fine. That's great." He didn't seem convinced.

"What?" She gave him a fake pout, having another idea on how to deter him. It was strange how he could be so arrogant and cocky around everybody else but her. She rose, her high heels making it even easier to saunter around the coffee table towards him. "Does somebody want a kiss?"

He laughed in that strange, almost sort-of-awkward way he did, and reached out a hand to take her arm and pull her next to him. The leather creaked as she settled herself on the couch, legs folded under her.

Henley didn't know why, but she loved kissing Daniel. His lips always tasted kind of sweet, like he had just had a breath mint, and he always responded with vigor. Apparently he liked kissing her too.

She also liked the way his neatly trimmed mustache and goatee tickled at her skin. He had shaved once, but, realizing it had made her upset, grew it back.

Daniel pulled back slightly, and she could feel a small smile on his lips.

"Oh, what's this?"

Hearing a crinkling of paper, Henley hurriedly opened her eyes and looked in his hand to find him holding the note that had been up her sleeve. How could she have been so stupid?! Of course he would find it!

"Give that back!"

Just as she was about to reach for it, there was a flash of light, a flicker of flame, and then it was gone.

"Ow!" Daniel shook out his hand, and, in a very undignified manner, stuck his fingers in his mouth. Pulling them out, he asked,

"Why were you hiding flashpaper in your sleeve? That hurt by the way."

Shocked, Henley found that she couldn't say anything. So the paper had just... vanished? She was familiar with flashpaper – every magician used it - but why had the note been written on flashpaper? Was it so important that it had to be destroyed, or was it so meaningless that it could be? Was it all a big scheme, or a joke? That's when she noticed something on Daniel's hand.

"Hey, Danny, what's that?" Before he could protest, Henley reached over and grabbed his wrist, flipping his hand over so she could see the palm.

"But flashpaper doesn't leave any residue..." Henley whispered.

Now they were both looking at his hand in bewilderment. Marked on his skin in big black letters were two words.

**THE NECROMANCER**


	2. Broken Glass

**A/N: Yes! Character and plot development! I was pretty reluctant about this story starting out, especially since it was a random idea that popped into my head with no plot. Well, now we have a plot going and I feel like I'm doing good with the characters. Please review and tell me what you think! Thanks! Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**Broken Glass**

"What the hell was that, Henley?!" Daniel abruptly rose from the couch. "Are you trying to show me up?"

"Pfft..." Henley rose too, but more slowly. "I never try to show you up."

_Come on, Henley. You have to steer him away from this!_

Daniel looked rather irritated. "Yes, yes you do." He waved his hand dramatically in front of her face. "Nice try, _hun._ I have no idea what a necromancer is." His voice was lidded with sarcasm.

"Well, neither do I. It didn't even come from... me." She trailed off, realizing what she had just said. Now he would know.

_Shit!_

"What do you mean? Of course it came from you. It was in your sleeve." He spoke in his usual, hurried tones. "Too bad you didn't hide it in a sexier place." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh, stop it, Danny!" She smacked him lightly. "And no, it didn't come from me. Someone gave it to me."

Daniel looked at his hand again, frowning at the letters written there. "Did you see their face?" He didn't look up at her.

"No. I don't remember anyone handing it to me. I just... found it in my pocket."

"Ah, sleight of hand. Was it your back pocket?" Now he looked up at her, flashing a smile that showed his nicely whitened teeth.

"Could you quit it with the jokes?" Henley was now growing annoyed with him. Could he just stop it with the questions and stay out of her business?

"Fine. Did it have anything written on it?"

"No."

The room was silent, and Daniel was tapping his foot, as if waiting for her to come out and say that she was lying. She wasn't about to admit to that and tell him about the message.

"If I got Merritt on the phone, would he say the same thing?"

"Yes." She gave him a smile he hoped was tension-free and reassuring. He had to stop pestering her about this! It wasn't a big deal anyway. She had just decided not to go. Maybe if the paper hadn't vanished she would have, but now it just seemed like an amateur pulling a stupid joke. "There was nothing on the paper!"

"Alright then." Daniel walked into the white-painted kitchen with his usual, arrogant gait, and reached for the landline on the counter.

"Hey!" Henley caught up to him, her high heels clicking on the tiles as she hurried over, grabbing his wrist before he could pick up the phone. "You don't need to call him! It's not a big deal!"

"Mmhm. I guess I'll just wash this off my hand then." He glanced pointedly at it, still gripping the phone. "If you would let me go, that is."

"Fine." She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the fridge, watching him as he washed his hands in the kitchen sink. The words came off with relative ease, and he didn't even try to reach for the phone with her looking at him.

"You always know how to make a big deal out of nothing, Daniel Atlas."

"Oh, come on! It couldn't have been bad enough for you to have to use my full name!" He finished drying his hands and came over to her. There wasn't much space in the room, so he only had to take a step or two.

"Control freak." She said the insult almost affectionately, giving him a teasing smile.

"Liar."

This was a strange game they played sometimes when they managed to grate at each other's nerves. It was a way to see how many insults they could come up with, and to release tension.

"Dick."

"That's been used too many times. It's invalid now. Slut."

"Excuse me?" She unfolded her arms and put herself in his face, her anger not truly real. She motioned at herself. "Do I look like a slut to you?"

"Maybe if we just tug down your shirt a little lower..." He reached his hands up to do so, but she grabbed them.

"Perv."

"Let's see." He pulled his hands from her grasp. "Man-handler!"

"Thief."

He laughed at that one. "So are you and the rest of our little buddies. But, okay, Miss Reeves. You seem to have won this round. Now, would you like to see a magic trick?"

Before Henley could reply, he flourished his hand and made a deep bow, a small, foil packet appearing in his palm. "I am at your service, Miss Reeves."

She laughed and used his wrist to pull him up straight. "Stop calling me that. It's kind of creepy."

"As you wish, dear." He did another theatrical bow before they walked hand-in-hand into the bedroom.

* * *

The next morning, Henley found herself in Central Park. She had tried to resist the urge to come here, but her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

Wearing sunglasses, a new hat she had bought a few days earlier, and a scarf, she hoped nobody would recognize her. She hadn't come here to be praised, and crowded, and cheered at. She wanted to see the Lionel Shrike Tree.

It was named after the magician who had left a signed playing card in the tree, encased in glass. When cut in half, it was found, and only a few knew how he had done the trick. He had been dead for some time now, but that was a whole other story completely.

Making her way towards the tree, she found that there was a small crowd around it, taking pictures and talking excitedly.

_Okay, what's going on?_

Henley made her way through with a few polite 'excuse me's' to reach the front of the crowd. Her jaw dropped in astonishment.

The hole in the tree that always held the case with the playing card was empty, save for some shattered pieces of glass. The bench right up against the tree was littered with glass too, the wood spray-painted in dashes of red. The card sat on the bench, ripped in half right down the middle.

She turned to the person next to her, a middle aged man taking pictures with his phone.

"What happened here? Do you know?"

He lowered his phone to look at her.

"Y-You're Henley Reeves! Oh my god! _You're_ Henley Reeves!"

The crowd fell silent and glanced in her direction. That was the only time she had to prepare herself before they all crowded around her and started shouting out all at the same time.

"Do you know what happened here?"

"Why are you visiting the tree?"

"Can I have your autograph?"

"Can I take a picture with you?"

"Who do you think did this?"

"Are you dating Daniel Atlas?"

"Where are the other Horsemen?"

"Is Jack Wilder really dead? I think I saw him the other day."

"Can I have your number?"

"Where did you buy your hat?"

"Please! Everyone! A lady needs to breathe, doesn't she?" She raised her hands to fend them off, and they shuffled about a foot back.

Henley took off her sunglasses and sighed. "I'm not here to sign autographs or get pictures taken. I certainly don't know what happened and I'm just as shocked as the rest of you."

"Wait!" That was someone from the back of the crowd. "Guys! Guys, show her the note! Who has the note?"

A teenage boy was pushed to the front of the crowd, looking rather flustered to be standing in front of the legendary Henley Reeves. He held a white card in his hand, dashed with red just like the bench.

"Do you know what this means?" He asked timidly, holding it out towards her.

Taking it, she flipped it over to the other side, where she found words written in the same script from the note the day before.

'_You did not come, High Priestess. Would you like me to come to you?'_

Questions began to fill the silence and a little pit began to form in her stomach.

"What is it?"

"What does it say?"

"Can I see it?"

"Seriously, where did you buy your hat?"

Henley flipped off her hat and handed it to the woman who had asked so she could see the company label on the inside. She didn't think that it would look good on her, but she didn't anything.

As the lady examined the label on her hat, she addressed the crowd.

"Okay, I have no idea what this means. Where did you guys find it?"

"It was inside the tree," someone provided. "With the broken glass."

She quickly shoved the card into her pocket and snatched her hat back from the woman who had taken the impolite liberty of trying it on.

Henley turned to examine the bench, ignoring the stares on her. She had been in front of people before, millions of people, in fact, so this shouldn't be bothering her, but it was. She had been surrounded in what appeared to be a personal moment.

_The High Priestess._

That was the title given to her by The Eye. Every member had one and only other members knew about it. So, was this from The Eye?

_Oh crap. I probably made them mad because I didn't come._

The Eye was everywhere, a network of people around the world. Different leaders were given to different factions. She personally knew one of the leaders in America: Dylan Rhodes. He was an FBI agent who had been handed the case with their show heists. She hadn't known until after all of it that he had been the one instructing them, anonymously telling them what to do. He had revealed himself and accepted her and her companions into The Eye. It was a title, mostly, though sometimes she did still receive instructions. If they wanted to talk, wouldn't they have just, well, texted her or given her a phone call? What was with all the secrecy again? Had she done something wrong?

Feeling a bit reverent, she picked up the two halves of the playing card. She was shocked that it had been ripped. Who would do this? The card had been beautiful, encased in the tree for years and years. Maybe it wasn't The Eye.

Henley tried not to shiver at that thought as she noticed more writing on both halves of the card. She had to flip the pieces a few times, but when they came together, she was left with the ominous signature that had been on Danny' hand.

**THE NECROMANCER**

_Oh god. What the hell is going on?_

She felt shaky now... and cold. Gooseflesh rippled over her skin. So it hadn't been a stupid joke, a fan hoping to meet her. Someone desperately wanted to speak with her, and they would go to these means to get the message out.

"What's on the card, Henley?"

"Yeah, what's on the card?"

"Is it cool?"

"Does it say who did it?"

She had almost completely forgotten the crowd behind her. She turned to face them and shoved the pieces into the hands of the first person she saw.

"You can all look at it. I'm leaving." She shoved her way through the crowd and put on her sunglasses, determined to leave the tree behind.

"Are you okay, Henley?"

"Why are you leaving?"

"Where ya going?"

She was glad when all the questions had been left behind her.


	3. A Bottle of Wine

**A Bottle of Wine**

Dylan Rhodes paced angrily across his office, then stopped, slamming his fists down on his desk in frustration, causing papers to flutter to the floor. He was getting nowhere with this case!

He sat down heavily in his computer chair, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face. When was the last time he had slept? He couldn't remember. Being an FBI agent was a lot more stressful than he had always imagined, and he often lost sleep over cases, thoughts twirling uselessly in his head. Sometimes a connection was made, but it was rare when it was 2:00 am and he was supposed to be asleep. But now it was 2:00 pm and he still had a few hours of work ahead of him. He was growing tired of his office, and he heaved a sigh knowing that he wouldn't be able to leave any time soon.

"What?" He snapped bitterly when there was a knock at the door.

"Um, Dylan? Can I come in?" The response was in a French accent that he could never get sick of hearing, and some of his stress just washed away.

"Yes, Alma. Sorry about that." He spun around in his chair as the door opened, giving the blonde woman that entered a smile. It was hard to believe that he hadn't even known her about a year ago. How had he gotten by without someone like her?

"How are you doing? I was not interrupting anything, was I?" She closed the door behind her.

"No. Just thinking. I can't find a connection in this stupid case!"

"The missing plane?" She guessed, coming around and sitting in a different chair across from him.

"Yes!" He stood, ready to let his anger out. "How do you lose a fucking jet?!"

It was odd that she didn't mind his language. Well, she had told him that the French had many more swears than Americans, much more creative ones, but she refused to teach him any, which might actually be a good idea.

"I am not sure." She pursed her lips in thought. "Most agencies are looking into it."

Alma wasn't actually part of the FBI. She worked for a French agency called Interpol. It had been arranged that she spend half the year in America, helping the FBI, and then the other half in France. It was the beginning of October, and she would leave for France before Christmas. He had visited her a few times the last time she had left, and quickly learned that her family didn't like him, though he hadn't been able to understand most of what they had been saying. He, well, he had no family. His mother had died when he was an infant and his father, Lionel Shrike, when he was about twelve. He hadn't realized how lonely he had been until she showed up.

"Is Interpol?"

"Of course. It may not be our plane, or yours, but we're worried all the same." She crossed her legs and looked at him, as if silently asking for him to sit down. So, he did, the leather creaking slightly under his weight. He would need to get a new chair.

"What do you want to talk about?" He asked, his mood sullen once again.

"What if I just came to visit?" There was a slight twinkle in her eyes, like she was playing with him.

He raised his eyebrows at her, swirling his chair idly back and forth.

"While I'm working?"

"I'm working too, you know."

"Mmhmm. You look very busy at the moment."

She rolled her eyes at his sarcasm, but it held affection. "Fine. I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me tonight after work. To dinner, and then maybe your place."

"It's a mess right now."

"Mine is probably no better."

"I'll think about it."

"So that's a yes?"

He smiled at her. "Yes. Definitely."

* * *

"So, why did you join the FBI?" Alma asked. She took a sip from her glass of wine as she looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

Dylan bit his lip, thinking it over. It hadn't all just been for the revenge for his father's death, had it? Had the plan taken over his life?

Now that it was over with, he realized that it had. Sometimes he found himself having absolutely no idea what to do with his life, or even for the next five minutes. It was strange now that he didn't have his own personal agenda.

"Dylan?" Alma snuggled closer to him, prompting for him to answer.

"I guess it was all for my plan to avenge my father's death," he answered honestly. Their eyes met. He was searching hers for some kind of disapproval, but there was none.

"You understand?" He asked, surprised.

"I think so." She took his free hand and curled her fingers in his. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." The answer was instant. His father's death and what he had done after it were not things that he freely discussed.

"Well, good thing I brought a bottle of wine," she said with a smile. "I might just make you talk."

Dylan chuckled, knowing that she probably would get him to spill.

"Not this instant though. Why did you join Interpol?"

After a year of being together, he was surprised that they had never asked each other these questions about why they joined the agencies that they did. It was how they met. Interpol had put Alma on a case with him, which at first he had been infuriated with, but then grown to like. That case happened to be his revenge plan.

She shrugged. "To help. To do the right thing. I wanted to make something of my life, and I thought this would be it."

"Is it?"

"Well, I met you."

"And is that a good thing?"

"Don't ask me that question like you are stupid, Dylan Rhodes." She smiled at him again. "Of course it is."

When she leaned in to kiss him, her lips tasted like wine, and he realized that he wanted to get drunk.


End file.
